


say my name (and every color illuminates)

by kissteethstainred



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, aka when they were dating, set between ep 15 and ep 23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caleb never knew his name could taste like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say my name (and every color illuminates)

**Author's Note:**

> let these boys be soft and in love!!!! they deserve it
> 
> (caleb doesn't cuss in this as much as i think he does)

Adam, despite the disagreements he has with his parents, is exactly like them in that he has a scientific mind. Intelligent, practical. If he doesn’t understand something, he has questions and tries to find answers. It’s like the scientific method. 

Step one: an observation. Such as, _Caleb Michaels is hot_. 

(“Don’t get your ego all inflated,” Adam tells him. “It went nothing like that.”)

Step two: form a hypothesis. _Caleb Michaels would like it if Adam Hayes kissed him_. 

(“I love how your natural progression is ‘he’s hot’ to ‘I’m gonna kiss him,’ as though you ever had that much game in your life,” Adam says, and Caleb laughs.)

Step three: test the hypothesis. Aka, _kiss Caleb Michaels_. 

And, well—

\--

Neither of them have experience, but at least Adam has—Caleb doesn’t even know. Desires. Wants, maybe.

Not that Caleb doesn’t have them either, but Adam, more than anything, has had _time_. He’s known he was gay—that he likes other guys—since he was little. He’s had all the time in the world to wonder about what it feels like to kiss another boy or hold his hand or date him. 

Caleb’s not a fucking idiot. He knows what people do in relationships, even if he’s never been in one himself. It’s just that Adam has all these questions and Caleb—Caleb didn’t even know he could ask questions until Adam had broken his fucking superpowers. 

\--

What happens, at first, is nothing: Adam comes over to Caleb’s house, and it’s the most Caleb has ever talked about his powers outside of Dr. Bright’s sessions. They talk about Caleb’s powers and how it relates to Adam, how it’s affected their relationship so far, Caleb’s feelings and why he’d wanted to tell Adam everything, and then finally, _finally_ , they actually talk about _them_. About how Adam had liked Caleb for a long time, and Caleb knew for sure he liked Adam, he knew because he didn’t date and now he wanted to, he knew because Adam’s emotions had always been different. 

All they did was say _yes, I want to try this_ , and _yes, I want another description of me to be_ yours. 

They didn’t kiss, though Caleb realized much later that Adam had been buzzing with nervousness because he’d _wanted_ to. 

Caleb isn’t a fucking idiot when it comes to relationships, but he still needs to be led through this a little. 

For a few days afterwards, it seems like nothing has changed. They’re still best friends—they still sit with each other at lunch, if a little closer, and they always pair up together for any group work, and after school they’ll go to one of their houses and play video games. 

Maybe Adam will look at Caleb longer, and when Caleb looks back, he won’t look away, only smile. (To Caleb’s credit, usually Caleb realizes these moments when Adam starts feeling _fond_ —the best word Caleb can use for it—a warm, light feeling that spreads outwards from his chest. That’s when he looks up, and nine times out of ten, Adam is looking at him).

And maybe the first two weeks Adam will say, “I don’t know, I have to check with my boyfriend,” every time Caleb asks him if he wants to hang out somewhere, and it will make Caleb laugh. Even though the joke gets old after the second time, and even though it’s, quite frankly, a stupid joke, Caleb laughs every time. 

And maybe they won’t hold hands in the hallway like every other straight couple that Caleb sees, and Caleb’s mother comments that she’s so glad Caleb has “a nice friend” like Adam, and maybe at one o’clock in the morning, it’s not any easier for Caleb to choke out an _I miss you_. 

But they get the hang of dating after the initial hesitation. And it’s good. It’s so good, just to see Adam smiling at him because Caleb— _is_. Caleb exists, and the feeling in Adam’s chest when he sees Caleb is unlike any other. Caleb wishes, in those moments, that Adam had the empath power too, just so he could see that Caleb feels the same. 

\--

What _does_ happen is this: they’re lying in Caleb’s bed. Adam is restless, constantly shifting positions to find something comfortable, and Caleb takes Adam’s hand to settle him. It quiets whatever feeling is inside Adam, and that makes Caleb smile. 

Adam says, “Hey,” into the darkness, and Caleb turns his head to look at him. He can make out Adam’s face, the shape of his mouth and dark of his eyes. Adam’s skin seems especially pale against the darkness and the dark blue of Caleb’s sheets. 

“What?” Caleb says, half in response to Adam’s word and half in response to the nervousness pooling in Adam’s stomach. 

Nervousness, like the butterflies Caleb has gotten so used to, and that warmth all over again, and then Adam is leaning over and kissing him. 

For a moment, Caleb can only lie there in shock, thinking—stupidly—that lips are clumsy and kissing clumsier, but Adam pulls away slightly, barely even a breath away, and whispers, “Caleb.” 

When he kisses Caleb again, the warmth blooming there steals his breath away, and he lets the wave wash over him, his surprise and happiness mixing with Adam’s. The sweet ache in Caleb’s chest, Caleb cannot give a name to, but it’s so strong that Caleb can almost taste it. The emotion in just Caleb’s name is overwhelming—pink and yellow, desire and nervousness, swirling around each other. It’s so strong, so settled inside Caleb’s chest, and it tastes sweet, addicting. 

Caleb never knew his name could taste like that.

\--

Caleb can feel the bass in his bones, shaking through his ribcage, and Adam’s fingers lightly laced through his own. There are colors fucking _everywhere_ —real colors, bright and flashing, dancing around the room from the strobe lights placed in the corner, and then _his_ colors. Bright, too, and sharp, hitting him like a wave of punches. 

Deep reds and bright pinks for the excited, wild dancing, lazy yellows and oranges for the buzzed, high, and drunk, royal blues and purples for the teenagers around him who are grinding on each other and making out in corners. 

Adam’s fingertips are the only thing grounding him—green, green, green, the color of Adam’s wariness washing away with every second he’s here. 

Caleb laces their fingers tighter and pulls Adam closer to him, almost chest to chest, and rests his forehead against Adam’s.

No one says anything, and he didn’t expect them to, but it makes him happy anyway. 

Adam’s own caution and hesitation is slowly turning to pleasure, especially with Caleb plastered to his front. “You good?” he says, even though he has to yell it into Caleb’s ear. 

“So good,” he yells back, smiling. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it’s better than expectation: he thought he might feel the nausea, the confusion, the bad effects of someone drunk, but there are too many people to focus on details. The general feeling here is a buzzed, pleasant feeling, a slight euphoria, and Caleb drinks it in greedily.

Dr. Bright would probably not be pleased, but fuck that. 

“So fucking good,” he repeats, and kisses Adam. The kiss is a bit harder than usual, but Adam’s hands come to clutch at Caleb’s biceps—which feels fucking amazing—and he presses closer to Caleb’s body. No one is even looking at them. No one fucking cares, and Adam is slowly filling with glee and something that Caleb would dare to call desire.

“Are _you_ good?” Caleb asks, and Adam nods, kissing Caleb again.

“Come dance with me,” Adam says, leading Caleb over to the mass of moving people, where there hardly seems to be any _dancing_ at all. 

Fire ignites in Adam’s body and Caleb is but a mirror of him, trapping that fire and reflecting it. 

\--

Hypothesis proves correct through experimentation. Share studies. 

\--

Something Caleb has learned that lies between them—more than the strange relationship between Adam’s emotions and Caleb’s powers, or the easy friendship between them—is understanding. Not completely perfect, but so evident that it’s startling. 

Loneliness for loneliness—Caleb hasn’t been as lonely as Adam has, surrounded by his teammates and supported by his parents, but he hasn’t truly connected with anyone. He’s never had a friend like he’s had Adam, and he’s certainly never dated. His powers isolate him as easily as they elevate him, and without knowing anyone else like him, it left him scared as well as lonely. He’s rash when he panics. And Adam understands that deeply, the loneliness and fear together, as he walked through the hallways of the school, trying to avoid other students, and sat there in classes, surrounded by students but always by himself. 

Anger for anger—Adam does have a lot of anger inside of him. Anger at other kids, anger at his parents, at himself. When Caleb is being an idiot, anger at Caleb too. Caleb knows that he has anger problems, too, and not just because he feels others’ anger. His anger spurns him to violence, and that’s on him. Adam’s anger is more internal. He stews on it, mulling over it for days and days, holding grudges longer than Caleb’s ever seen anyone do before. 

And overriding all that, the reason they’re together: the mutual feeling of warmth and yearning, that _beyond friendship_ feel. Caleb gets nervous and deflective whenever his mother brings up the word love—or, God forbid, Dr. Bright brings up the word lust again—but he can’t deny that when Adam falls asleep on his books after hours of studying, or his small smile to Caleb over the computer screens when Facetiming, or the way Caleb’s sweatshirts always seem so big on Adam’s body—

It maybe feels like that.

\--

Except—

“You can’t fix my depression, you know,” Adam says, in the quiet space between them on the bed. They’re facing each other, Caleb’s hand running up and down Adam’s back, his side. Caleb’s shirt is off, because that’s something Adam is brave enough to ask for; Caleb is only brave enough to slip his hand under Adam’s shirt.

Adam’s parents aren’t home, as is the usual.

“That’s not how my powers work, but I know,” Caleb says. 

Adam frowns a little. His hand, which has so far been stroking Caleb’s hair, pauses a moment. “It’s more than that,” he stresses. There’s something hard growing in him, like he needs Caleb to know this. “Even this, even _us_ —”

“I know,” Caleb says. “I’m with you to be with you, Adam. Not for any other reason.” 

Adam goes quiet for another moment. Caleb moves his hand from Adam’s hip to his ribcage, just to feel his steady breathing. 

“I thought,” Adam continues, “that you became . . . you said my feelings were different, that I was so sad that it overpowered everything—”

 _Oh_ , Caleb thinks. “I mean, yes, originally,” Caleb says. “But your feelings are different because everyone else washes over me, overpowers me, and once I got to know you, yours . . . balanced out.” Adam’s gaze is on his fingers on the back of Caleb’s neck. “It’s like cooking,” Caleb says, poking Adam in the ribs, and Adam rolls his eyes—Caleb had been extremely pleased when he found out that Adam can cook, has been able to cook since he was fourteen. “When you get a cup of flour, usually the flour is piled on top, and you have to flatten it out to get it to an even cup. You know? The overflowing cup is everyone else’s emotions, and you . . . you swipe it all away. I can feel my own emotions with you.” 

Adam smiles, his eyes meeting Caleb’s. “You always do that,” he says.

“Do what?” 

“Speak in metaphors.”

Embarrassment strikes through Caleb. “Fuck off. Dr. Bright is always asking me to do that.”

Adam shakes his head. “I like it. It’s poetic.” 

“ _Poetic_? I am not fucking poetic.” 

Adam laughs. “It’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up.”

“Dare I say it? It’s even a bit romantic.” 

Caleb leans forward and presses his smile into Adam’s neck. “I could kick your ass.”

“You could, but you won’t.” 

The quiet emotion inside of Adam is turning into desire, warm and slow. Caleb is already tilting his head up to kiss him when Adam says, “ _Caleb_ ,” the way only Adam does. 

\--

Adam’s only flaw is that he dislikes football. It’s boring, he says, a jock sport for those who have nothing better to do. Call him when it’s less of a cliché. 

Caleb laughs and says, “You’re the nerd who is dating the jock. _That’s_ a cliché.” 

Adam punches him in the arm and says, “I am _not_ a nerd.” 

He is, but Caleb lets him believe otherwise. 

Football is good because it’s the same as the party—there are so many emotions, and emotions that are running _high_ , that there’s no room for details. The one, overwhelming feeling inside him is the excitement of the crowd, how ecstatic they are when the team makes a good play, the joy at a touchdown. 

It’s downright addicting. Caleb really doesn’t know how he’d go without it. 

Even when they’re losing or playing badly, the stress and worry doesn’t affect him that much. Stress can be a good thing. As his mother always says, “ _It teaches us to overcome_.” Caleb thinks he plays well when there’s stress, because it pushes him to work harder.

Adam always talks about the satisfaction he feels when he gets a good grade, how he knows all his hard studying pays off. Caleb feels the same way about football, about working out. To walk back into the locker room, exhausted after a good practice, game, or workout, and feel that satisfied exhaustion reflected in all his teammates—it feelings fucking great. 

Adam says he hates it, but he comes to every one of Caleb’s home games. And Caleb can still remember how happy Adam was after that one game, how euphoric their mixed feelings had seemed, how it was one of his happiest moments. 

There’s even a game where Adam finds him afterwards, and Caleb’s number is painted on his cheek in black. Caleb raises his eyebrows. Adam flushes and says, “Shut up.” 

The tradition continues anyway.

\--

Caleb’s hand is shaking. 

He holds it out flat in the air, watches his hand tremble from side to side like seesaw, clenches it into a fist, winces when it makes the cuts stretch and hurt, and then unclenches it.

It’s still shaking. Caleb takes a deep breath. 

Adam touches his arm hesitantly, but Caleb turns into the touch. Adam takes his hand and, using a wet, brown paper towel, cleans the small streaks of blood off of Caleb’s hand. Caleb winces again, but the coldness of the paper towel feels good against Caleb’s overheated body. 

Anger, especially someone else’s, always makes his body hot. Caleb can always feel it rush through him. The heat is slowly seeping out of him, in this convenience store bathroom, cooled by the wetness of the towel and the sure way Adam cleans him up. 

“Hey,” Adam says, to get Caleb’s attention back on him. His fingers hold the paper towel against Caleb’s hand gently. Even darkened with water, Caleb’s hand is darker than the paper towel. “You have a split lip.”

So he does. Caleb touches his tongue to his bottom lip only to be followed by a slight sting when it catches blood. “I never realized—” He pauses, unsure. Adam eyes find his, so he continues. “I always thought homophobia was just an idea. I never realized . . . it’s an emotion.” Caleb shakes his head. “It’s _anger_. Anger and hate. I was filling up with his emotions before I even realized it. And then I was angry myself, because the shit he was saying—”

“He deserved it,” Adam says, pressing his fingers harder over Caleb’s hand. “He was an asshole.”

“But _we_ got kicked out of the fair,” Caleb says, giving Adam a sad smile. “Sorry for ruining the date.”

“Don’t,” Adam whispers, drawing Caleb close to him so that Adam’s arms are around him. Caleb presses his lips to the top of Adam’s head and holds it there, just to feel something besides this anger. It’s even worse than usual anger, because this is just who he _is_ , and this random person had hated him for it. 

“Let’s go home,” Adam says, and relief sweeps through Caleb. 

Dr. Bright will want to know about this.

\--

Caleb closes his eyes and there are still lights and colors everywhere. He feels like a balloon, colors and emotions pushing into him until he expands, until there’s no room left. Take a deep breath, take a moment for Dr. Bright’s exercises, take Adam’s hand. _Green_. The balloon deflates, and he can be refilled all over again. 

Caleb has strangers pressed all around on the dance floor, but Adam’s the only one he can focus on—they’ve never been this close before, almost no space between them, and maybe they’re barely even moving, but it doesn’t matter. Everything feels perfect. 

Adam’s hand is running over his biceps, his neck, up into his hair. Caleb shivers, presses closer, his fingers hooking in Adam’s belt loops. Adam kisses him again, laughing into Caleb’s mouth, and it sends a jolt in Caleb’s stomach.

Adam hooks his hands behind Caleb’s neck, pulls Caleb down so their foreheads press together. _What does it feel like_ , he says, eyes bright and curious.

Make an observation, ask a question. 

_Like everyone around us is the ocean_ , Caleb thinks, _and you’re the small island I can rest on_. _Like everyone around us is the crowd at the football game, wild and excited, and you’re that one pause, that one moment before the ball is passed to the quarterback and the action is back. Like they’re the fucking cyclone, and you’re the eye of the storm_. 

Fucking metaphors, man. 

_It feels amazing_ , Caleb says, pressing this promise to Adam’s mouth, his forehead, his chin. Adam ducks his head at the kisses, embarrassed but happy. _I wish you could feel it too_. 

Adam tightens his fingers around Caleb’s neck, and when he kisses Caleb, he says, _I do_.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from florence + the machine's "spectrum," which is very them imho. my tumblr is [here](http://williamanderly.tumblr.com/) if you wanna talk about these kids


End file.
